saving grace
by Phantom Thief Oryx
Summary: It's all just a ruse, really. So why can't she toss this girl aside and move on? — Clair/Jasmine


The broadcast has long since ended and the spectators have all gone home, and Clair sits on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the water. Kingdra floats calmly next to her, taking a well-deserved respite after the day's battle. Her Dratini race each other down the length of the pool, making waves that lap at her ankles. She is about to return them to their pokeballs and turn in for the day when footsteps catch her attention, reverberating like gunshots across the water and the empty bleachers. She turns to see a girl – nineteen years old, maybe, with long brown hair and a delicate face – standing behind her, eyes downcast, fidgeting anxiously.

"Ah, um… Hello," she says, and Clair can't help but notice how her fingers curl nervously around the hem of her sundress. "S-sorry to bother you. I just, uh… I wanted to say that your battle earlier was amazing! I was r-really impressed."

"Thanks," Clair says. This girl looks awfully familiar, and she knows they must have met before, but for the life of her she can't remember where. "Are you here for a picture or an autograph? I got those out of the way a few hours ago, you know, but I suppose I can make an exception."

The girl's eyes widen, and for a moment she looks almost… hurt. But her small, awkward smile slips back into place quickly, and she shakes her head.

"No," she says. "I actually, um… I actually wanted to ask if you'd help me with something! If it's not t-too much trouble, that is…"

That's it! Jasmine – the new Olivine gym leader. Clair frowns, annoyed at herself for forgetting. She could at least make an effort to remember her own coworkers, though admittedly the girl hadn't made much of an impression at her induction ceremony, and Clair had spent the majority of the affair out on the balcony, on the phone with her PR guy.

"Sure," Clair says, her tone a bit more amiable than before. "What can I do for you?"

"I, well, you see… I really admire you because you're so confident and self-assured! And I was wondering if you could help me become confident too!"

Clair raises an eyebrow. She stares at the girl for a moment, unsure if she's serious, but the gradually reddening of her face seems truthful enough. It's an odd request, sure, but also… intriguing.

"Alright," she says finally, with a nonchalant shrug. "I'll help you out. But first – what's your name?"

It's cruel of her, to ask what she already knows. But for some reason Clair wants to see it again – that subtle pain in her eyes. That expression of crushed hopes and utter, dismal defeat.

"Y-yeah, you wouldn't remember something like that, would you?" The girl laughs shakily. "I'm Jasmine. I'm, uh… the gym leader in Olivine… My specialty is the steel type – "

"Wrong!" Clair says, jabbing an accusatory finger in her direction.

"… Wh-what?"

"I am a gym leader in the same league as you. Not knowing your name is inexcusable and horrifically impolite on my part. And so here is your first lesson: Having confidence means thinking of yourself in a positive light, Jasmine. Your name _is_ something to be remembered, and my failure to do so is no fault of yours.

"Now let's try again. I ask you what your name is, and you say…?"

"Um, uh… 'H-how dare you forget the name of a fellow gym leader!? I am very much offended!' … How was that? Was it okay?"

Clair tries valiantly to stifle her laughter, but doesn't quite succeed.

.

.

Jasmine calls her on a Tuesday afternoon, and Clair finds herself smiling as she answers the phone. There's something about this painfully awkward girl that interests her, more than anyone has interested her in a long, long time, though she can't quite put her finger on why.

(_Perhaps_, she thinks, with only a little shame, _it's the powerful feeling of being someone's saving grace._)

"Ah, um… H-hello? Clair? This is, uh… This is Jasmine! You know, from before."

"Yes, I know," Clair says, biting back a chuckle.

"Oh, okay. Yeah. Um… I was wondering if m-maybe you might like to go out to lunch with me sometime soon? Or dinner, if that's more convenient! Or it doesn't have to be a meal at all, I guess. We could just, uh… hang out?"

"Sure," Clair says with a wry smile. "But first, another lesson. You've got to understand, Jasmine, that people are indecisive by nature. When you call someone up and ask them to do something with or for you, don't give them options. Give them a day, a place, a time, and nothing else. Don't say, 'if it's convenient' or 'I hope it's not a bother.' That'll only dissuade them. If you act like a leader, people will clear their schedules for you. Trust me. Now try it again, from the top!"

"Oh, uh… Alright… 'I would like you to join me for lunch on Friday at one! I, um… haven't picked a restaurant yet and I was hoping you might have suggestions, because I don't eat out very often! P-please consider clearing your schedule for me!' … Was that acceptable?"

"Got it in one," Clair murmurs, and shakes her head bemusedly.

.

.

They end up at a small café in Goldenrod – one of Clair's favorites. Jasmine is dressed like it's some kind of date, wearing a long, shimmery skirt and expensive-looking cardigan, hair done up in a stylish bun. She blushes when she sees Clair's casual outfit, muttering something about "not wanting to be underdressed."

They're graciously offered the best seat in the house, a patio table overlooking the sparkling water of the harbor. A faint sea breeze drifts past, running its delicate fingers through Clair's hair. They place their orders – a chai tea and a cranberry scone shaped like a Clefairy for Jasmine – and Clair levels her with a knowing look.

"So," she says. "I assume you asked me here for another lesson?"

Jasmine nods hesitantly. "Y-yeah. I was hoping that going out to lunch with you would be, um… a learning experience, so to speak? I could see what it's like to go out and… and not be worried all the time. About messing something up. Or saying s-something wrong."

"Hmm. Well I think you might get more than you bargained for," Clair muses aloud, an idea forming in her mind. She calls for the waiter and gestures towards the two men leaning conspicuously against the patio fence, occasionally sneaking a glance in her direction. "Those gentlemen over by the gate – let them in, will you?"

The waiter nods, and soon enough the two are sidling up to the table, sleazy smiles stretched wide across their faces.

"Hey there Clair," the taller one drawls, sliding into one of the empty seats uninvited. "You finally gonna give us an interview, or are you just stringin' us poor saps along again?"

"Maybe someday, Murray. Maybe someday. But instead of me, how about interviewing _her_?"

Jasmine's face instantly turns as white as a sheet. "N-n-no, that's not, um… That's not n-necessary…"

"Her?" Murray stares at Jasmine for a moment, then turns back to Clair, confusion written on his face. "I mean yeah, I guess I could, but who the hell is she?"

"Uh, well, I'm… I'm…"

"She's the Olivine gym leader, you imbecile. Jasmine. It seems like it's always either me or Whitney being featured in the magazines – why not give someone else the spotlight for a change?"

Murray and his cohort exchange an incredulous glance.

"Clair," he says solemnly, "are you yankin' my chain? There's no way this little girl is the Olivine gym leader. I've heard some folks talkin' about Jasmine, and she's supposed to be tough as shit, not some delicate fuckin' flower. I dunno what you're tryin' to pull, Clair, but – "

"Sh-shut up!"

Everyone at the table freezes and turns their eyes toward Jasmine, who seems shocked at the words that just came out of her mouth.

"Sorry, th-that was rude… But, you see… Clair wouldn't lie," she continues, resolve slowly edging its way into her voice. "I am J-Jasmine. I am the Olivine gym leader! And I… I don't enjoy being doubted! I'll take you on right here and now if you don't believe me. My steel types will crush you in an instant!"

She withdraws a pokeball from her purse and holds it out threateningly, and Murray puts his hands up in defeat as he edges away from the table.

"Whoa there," he says. "No need to get angry, sweetheart. I meant no offense to you or the lovely Miss Clair. I can see y'all are feeling a bit tetchy at the moment, so I'll take my leave." He turns and storms away, grumbling to his lackey as he does so. "These fucking gym leader bitches, man, I swear to god. Think they're so special. Clair keeps shooting us down, like she's hot shit or something? Claims to be undefeated but everyone knows that's a lie… beaten by Lance at least once, y'know?"

Clair takes a sharp breath. Unease sets in almost immediately, twisting her stomach into knots, and she can feel her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. How do they know about that? She's never talked about it in interviews, never mentioned it to fans. And _he's_ not particular chatty when it comes to reporters – she doubts they would've heard it from him. So how…?

"Clair?" Jasmine is looking at her with concern, her brown eyes wide and owlish. "Clair, are you not feeling well? D-do you feel sick?"

"… Yeah," she mutters, and puts her head in her hands. "I'm a little under the weather, is all."

.

.

Jasmine invites her to Olivine one Saturday, asking if she'd like to see the sights.

"I've seen them before, you know," Clair says, and rolls her eyes, but in the end she agrees anyhow.

They go to the beach, where Jasmine is nearly hugged to death by all the local children. They go to the boardwalk, where the shopkeepers all know Jasmine by name and offer her an automatic half-price discount. They go to the lighthouse, where Jasmine stops to give advice to almost every trainer in the place. They go to the docks, where one of the fisherman's wives hands Jasmine several containers full of home-cooked meals, claiming that she's getting too thin.

And when they return to Jasmine's flat above the gym, she turns to Clair with a determined expression and says that she's ready for her next lesson.

"… Maybe later," Clair says, and begins to wonder if Jasmine ever needed her in the first place.

.

.

They fall into a routine. A day spent together in Olivine one week, a day in Blackthorn the next, occasionally forgoing either for a night out in Goldenrod or some culture in Ecruteak.

Clair tells herself that it's reasonable, this much time spent together. Jasmine still has a long way to go – still stutters and wavers when she speaks, still can't maintain eye contact with strangers or do anything but turn bright red when someone flirts with her.

But most of the time, it seems, when Jasmine asks Clair for advice, her mind goes blank and all she can think of is that first day in Olivine, when she saw how much the townspeople loved her; how they smiled when they saw her, how they thought of her as a friend and neighbor and not just "that girl who runs the gym." Clair looks at her own town – at the people she's known all her life but has never really _known_, not like that, and feels startlingly, woefully inadequate.

It's all just a ruse, really, their ridiculous "lessons in confidence."

_So why?_ Clair asks herself.

Why can't she toss this girl aside and move on?

.

.

She loses. (Again.)

But this time it's not to Lance. It's not to an Elite Four member or a fellow gym leader. It's to a kid – no older than twelve, probably, with pigtails and an innocent smile.

At first she refuses to accept it. It has to be a fluke, a trick, some kind of prank being played because there is no way that she, the leader of Blackthorn Gym, could be bested by some baby-faced middle-schooler.

And yet.

"So Lyra beat you as well?" Jasmine's face is a bit fuzzy on the tiny PokeNav screen, but her surprise is palpable. "A-amazing… Maybe she'll even become the new Champion at this rate!"

"Yeah right," Clair says with a sneer. "There's no way that little brat will get past Lance. There's no way in hell…"

Jasmine frowns, almost imperceptible due to the blurry image but there all the same.

"… Clair, is something the matter? You seem, uh… well, you seem rather upset today. You can talk to me if you like! I've been t-told that I'm a good listener."

Clair rubs a hand across her face tiredly. "It's nothing," she sighs. "Just that… I'm not used to losing. Haven't lost in years, to tell you the truth. And now some little girl comes along and ruins my record… Pisses me off, you know?"

To her astonishment, Jasmine laughs. It's a genuine sound, adorable and awkward just like Jasmine herself, and for some reason it makes Clair want to cry.

"Don't say that!" Jasmine exclaims. "Losing is how we get better, Clair. It shows us what we still need to improve on. Think of it as a great opportunity instead of a failure, okay?"

"Since when were you the one handing out advice?" Clair asks, and though her tone is joking the question hangs heavy in the air all the same, pressing down upon her shoulders like a weight.

_Since when indeed?_

.

.

(One day she picks up the phone and is halfway through dialing Jasmine's number when she realizes:

Jasmine rarely calls her these days.

It's almost always the other way around.)

.

.

"I'm thinking of going on vacation," Jasmine says. She's in Blackthorn this weekend, and they're sitting on the steps of the Dragon's Den shrine, watching Dragonite and Skarmory as they try to outdo each other with increasingly more complex aerial maneuvers.

"A vacation? To where?"

"Hmm… Sinnoh, probably. I hear they have amazing Pokemon contests there. I might try my hand at those for a while; take a break from battling. I'm sure my Pokemon would appreciate the slower pace, at least for a time."

"Oh," Clair says, and there's a tight feeling in her chest that she can't explain. "Sounds fun, I suppose."

Jasmine smiles. "I'll bring you back a souvenir, but it'll be surprise, okay?"

"It's probably going to be snowglobe, isn't it?" Clair grumbles, remembering the neatly arranged snowglobe collection in Jasmine's room.

"Wh-what? No, no, of course not! It, um… definitely will not be a snowglobe."

"You're a terrible liar."

Jasmine laughs, holding up her hands as if to say 'guilty as charged.' A comfortable silence falls between them then, stretching out across the calm water.

And then:

"Clair," Jasmine says quietly, "will you be alright on your own?"

Clair starts, whipping around to stare at her, and she knows the shock she feels at these words must be evident on her face because Jasmine purposefully looks away, biting her lip anxiously.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I-I didn't mean to upset you. It's just, well… You're not very good with people leaving, are you? I've gotten to know you p-pretty well, I think, and I can tell that you aren't. I just thought that maybe – "

"I don't know what you're on about," Clair hisses. "I don't give a damn if you go on your silly vacation or not, and I certainly don't have any ridiculous hang-ups, Miss Armchair Psychologist. So please, enjoy your trip. I hope Sinnoh is every bit as wonderful as it seems."

"W-wait, Clair, that's not what I meant – "

But she's already calling back her Dragonite and commanding it to Fly (somewhere, anywhere but here), and in a split second she's gone.

.

.

When Clair is nine and Lance is eleven, it is decided by the elders of Blackthorn that among the two of them, only he will be allowed to go out into the world on a Pokemon journey, to show the world the might of the Dragon Clan. She will remain behind, as… insurance, of a sort. The position of gym leader will undoubtedly be Lance's once he returns, but just in case, their grandfather says, it's always good to have a backup plan.

Clair cries after this announcement. For years she has been dreaming of the outside world – of the ocean at sunset and Goldenrod City with its skyscrapers and Ilex Forest in the fall. And now, in her nine-year-old mind, she will never see any of it. She will be trapped forever in Blackthorn, where there is nothing but craggy rock and flat, grey sky as far as the eye can see.

Lance smiles at her; puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, don't cry," he says. "How about this? When I come back, I'll be strong – stronger than Grandfather. Stronger than all of them combined! And I'll bust you out of here, and we'll go on an adventure together. Alright?"

"… You promise?" Clair sniffles, and glares at him through watery eyes.

"Yeah," he says. "I promise."

And so she waits. She waits for a year, and then two, and then three. She waits and waits and waits for her cousin to come for her, to come swooping down from the sky on the back of a Legendary Bird or some other childish nonsense. Soon enough six years have passed, and then seven, and then eight. Her Grandfather dies she and doesn't cry at his funeral. The elders of Blackthorn retire or pass away one by one, and gradually she is set free – allowed to go where she pleases and be who she wants to be. But still for some reason she waits.

Until one day, ten years after the promise, she borrows the neighbor's radio and happens to hear an interview with the Champion.

"Now Lance," the reporter is saying. "You've had a marvelous year, being promoted from Elite Four member to Champion of all of Kanto and Johto! What do you attribute to your success?"

"Well, just perseverance and a bit of luck I suppose – "

Clair reaches over and turns the radio off with a click of finality.

"Yeah," she whispers, to no one in particular. "You wouldn't remember something like that, would you?"

.

.

Two weeks into Jasmine's Sinnoh vacation, Clair finds herself checking her phone obsessively.

"It's not like I want her to call," she says aloud, and Kingdra gives her a disbelieving look.

Three weeks in, Clair gives up on her last shred of dignity.

_Are you coming home soon?_ she types. _By the way… I'm sorry for getting so angry before._

It takes Jasmine several minutes to reply, but it feels like an eternity.

_yes! i'll be back in about a week. don't worry i understand. i still bought you a souvenir if you want it (it's not a snowglobe seriously!)_

Clair smiles and laughs shakily, relief flooding through her, trying and failing to ignore the sweet, painful ache in her heart.

A week is a long time, but she's waited longer.

.

.

.

.

("You just had to buy the tackiest one they had, didn't you?" Clair flips the stupid thing upside down and then watches the 'snow' fall with a critical eye.

"I knew you'd like it," Jasmine says, and leans across the table for a kiss.)


End file.
